Summer Ball. 20

Well, what a night! After a long journey up and a chilled out day we got suited and booted and went to the ball.

An evening like this was never going to be without its hitches; the beautiful cotton shirt I purchased from Next was a tiny bit creased, so I decided to iron it round at Daz's house. After taking the chronic piss out of Olly for having the ironing skills of a disabled kiwi-fruit, I stepped up to iron a tiny crease out of the collar. The iron (which looked to me to have been last used in early 2001) leaked a small puddle of rusty liquid onto my shirt, my mirth disappeared quite quickly.

I started scrubbing it in the sink with some Surf and once it was out I started again. It seemed to go smoothly until I held the shirt up to inspect it and found that the collar was now a strange saffron colour. This was a combination of the Surf not having been rinsed enough and the iron being too hot. Olly doubled up laughing whilst I swore, loudly and at length.

Thankfully, Daz had a white shirt in my size so all was not lost. We had a meal which was barely worth the price of the ticket and a four mile walk to the toilet, the main highlight of this early stage was being treated to Olly's attempts at being our very own court jester. While hanging around outside in between courses, I attempted to take a stupid photo with Olly. It turns out that the photo in question was actually a video and upon realising this, John went in to give Olly a shoeing on the floor.

It would be prudent to note that the area of marquee we were in was particularly slippy and John's attempts to hold Ol on the floor with his foot got scuppered when he did an impression of a man on a banana skin just as he'd managed to muster enough force to send Ol flying too. Combined with us rocking the portaloo when Olly was in the middle of doing his business, this mini-break from the meal was a taster of the fun to come.

Later, when we were fed and watered, we were treated to a very very cramped room and some questionable music. Thankfully, the terraces of the racecourse were a haven for those wishing to smoke or those just wanting a bit of fresh air. It was also the al-fresco setting for a windmilling session from Ol, whose recipient looked as if she'd seen a ghost, albeit one with his willy out, shouting 'Awite Girls!' The ball gradually died a death and we marched to Off the Wall where we carried on drinking well into the morning. I was impressed by my body taking it to be honest: some nights I can drink for England and other nights I'm pissed after half a pint! Thankfully, ths one was the former and whilst I was drunk, I wasnt out of the game.

Personal highlight for me: getting in the fountain on the roundabout at 6am. This has been done a million times before, but never by me. I thought 'better late than never.'